Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
“Construction sucks,” Kurt said out loud.
Taking a deep breath after the call with the building department, he pulled into a fast food place’s parking lot and called the customer from his truck. He had to tell them the inspection of their deck footings was rescheduled, and that the project was stalled until the city got out to the site. The lady of the house was, to put it mildly, displeased, and yelled at him, and all he could do was tell her it wasn’t anything to do with him.
He thought, “Maybe you should have scheduled more than three weeks in advance of your daughter’s backyard wedding, stupid.” People just didn’t plan.
Now his day was wasted. He made another call, thinking he could drive out to another site and do some prep work, but the family wasn’t home, or at least wasn’t answering their phone. It wasn’t even noon.
Kurt looked around the parking lot, racking his brain, and finally called his buddy with a machine shop; he had a couple of tool repairs to do, things that had been pushed to the back burner, and he could use his buddy’s array of specialty machines to fix a few things. The guy answered his phone, and told Kurt he could come by after three, when the shop wound down. So Kurt had three hours or so to kill.
He could eat, he supposed; but he looked at the gaudy sign hovering over his truck and decided not to eat a pile of junk food; since the divorce he’d been a pretty good boy, eating healthier and all that, and with the physical labor of deck building he was probably in the best shape of his life. Idly, he looked in the rear view mirror and looked at his face, that always had a somewhat battered look that outdoor people get, and the jagged nose that had just been broken too many times. Old. He was getting old, and the end of hard muscle work was coming soon. It was on its way.
He heard a screaming sound from outside the truck, and turned the key to buzz the window down. Popping his head out he found he’d parked next to a chain link fence, and on the other side was a city pool. The place with the crabby lady’s deck was a fairly uppity suburb, and the pool had slides and all kinds of colorful play equipment mounted around. He watched the splashing crowd for a bit, initially killing time watching the kids, thinking of the pool where he’d grown up, which had been a tomb-like rectangular hole without even a diving board.
Then he was able to pick out some girls and women, and he started blandly watching some of them, the upper-class housewives and college girls home for the season. Some of the moms were fine, very fine indeed. He thought about the last time he’d gotten laid, and figured it had to be almost a year.
“I should take some classes or something,” he said out loud. Yeah, go to the tech college and take a few classes for working Spanish or something useful to him. It might be a good place to meet some quality women, too, people with some ambition and a head on their shoulders.
He missed being married.
“Fuck this,” he said, again out loud, and decided to get out of the ‘burb and maybe have a few beers at his neighborhood bar, back in his real Van Escort life. The hell with it.
After the usual pointless, frustrating drive, Kurt walked into his local watering hole and was surprised to see a young woman in the place talking to Tommy, the old barkeep and owner. Just the presence of anyone under the age of forty in the place was unusual, and the chick was not only young but decent-looking.
“She’s got to be someone’s relative,” Kurt thought. “Got to be.”
She was being bitchy. No, not exactly bitchy; she was angry, with a furious, frustrated behavior that young people get. He wondered how old she was. She looked really young, but he thought she had to be twenty-one, at least: she was drinking what looked like a beer. He watched her with his peripheral vision as he passed her, walking to a stool a reasonable distance away.
As he went by she made a face that made him wonder what her mother looked like; women often ended up resembling their mothers, from body language and facial expressions. She pushed out her chin, and her mouth seemed puffed out, but then she opened her lips and a gleam of metal revealed braces. Braces! How old (or young) was the girl? She was thin, but genetically, not workout thin or even particularly muscular or toned, she was just young and kind of skinny.
Her smallish, finely shaped head topped a long torso with a sinuous waist, with nice, smooth legs. Her pouting face was well-featured, with a turned-up nose and high cheekbones, and with heavy eyeliner and eyelash stuff her eyes looked huge. A long, brunette braid came down along her shoulder, and when she turned slightly another of the same revealed itself on the other side; her hair was in pigtails.
Her clothing was slightly down-market knockoffs of casual stylish stuff: a fake military cap with false pockets on the sides in olive drab, a black T-shirt with some white splattered logo in graffiti letters, and frayed jean shorts that managed to reveal the bottom of her ass cheeks. Kurt took a decently long look at that. Her shoes, canvas sneakers, looked like a tie-dye version of Keds or some such. She was young and kind of cute, and of more than average height.
He sat down a few spots away from her at the bar, and noted she was drinking a short draft beer of indifferent quality. She talked animatedly, and for a while he concentrated on the TV without really listening, instead catching the cadences of her voice. She was complaining about something, or perhaps everything, to the aged bartender. He caught the words ‘mother’ and ‘school’ in the rapid rapping of her monologue, which was only occasionally interrupted by placating comments from the barkeep. At a juncture during which the barkeep had to excuse himself to serve an elderly drunk at the end corner of the bar, Kurt looked her over again out of the corner of his eye: her leg was bouncing up and down, and her chin, a pointy child-sized chin, poked out pugnaciously as her mouth worked. It looked like she was grinding her teeth. He decided to get himself into the conversation through the barkeep.
“Hey Tommy, is this your daughter?” he asked as the old man wandered back Van Escort Bayan by on his way to more harangue.
Tommy the barkeep recoiled as if poked with a pin and chuckled, an almost cartoonish chuckle, and responded, “Hell no! I ain’t layin no claim to this here girl! My daughter!” He winked and continued loudly, “Shit, if this was my daughter I’d put her over my knee and spank some sense into her!” He laughed a coarse but good natured, rough-but-decent laugh.
The girl puffed up and put her hands on her hips, arching her back and thrusting a pair of small, high-set breasts into the taut fabric of the T-shirt. “HEY!” she shouted, “What was that!?”
Tommy threw his head back and laughed loudly. He continued, “Yeah, her mother don’t spank her enough, that’s her problem! No discipline!” He winked again, and the girl plopped her lower jaw open in an exaggerated expression of angry astonishment.
She half shouted, “Uncle Tommy! I’m telling Mom on you!”
Tommy turned back and revealed a fact: “Nah, this’s my niece, my sister’s youngest.” He rushed off to refill an elderly day-drinker’s gin and tonic.
The girl turned towards the end of the bar, and faced Kurt in a posture of dramatic outrage, waiting for Tommy to come back down and face the music. When Tommy returned she threw her mouth open.
“What’s this about spanking me?!”
Tommy folded over laughing. She continued, wagging her finger, “You better watch it, I’ll spank YOU!”
Tommy made an comedic, anticipatory face, and Kurt laughed. The girl doubled her faux anger and made a big face at Kurt; and he was in the conversation.
The girl continued her rant while Tommy washed glasses and nodded his head, mumbling from time to time. Finally, he excused himself to go in the cooler for a restock, and the girl had to sit by herself, leg bobbing in agitation, sipping her beer. Kurt decided to work a little harder at socializing and got up to go to the bathroom, passing behind the girl as he walked.
She was wearing a small pushup bra, and the clasps and sliders made bumps on the tightly-fitting shirt. Her hair was an odd reddish color, probably dyed, and she had a nice, firm, young ass. Not large, but nice, about the size of his palms. “Sweet,” he thought. When he headed back to his stool (after washing his hands and dawdling a little) Tommy had returned with boxes of bottles, so he stopped next to the girl and asked Tommy, in that unimportant bar-talk way, “This is your niece? I don’t see a resemblance, she’s way too good looking to be related to you.”
Tommy laughed, and the girl turned around and looked at Kurt’s face, then for an instant dragged her glance down the front of his body to his crotch before looking away. She smiled ever-so-briefly, then said, “Tommy’s my uncle, aren’t you, Tommy?”
The barkeep inclined his head and said, “Oh yeah, Julie. This here’s Kurt.”
Kurt lifted his bottle of beer and said, “Hello.”
Julie turned around again, mildly interested but standoffish, and said, with little social skill, “Hey.”
He decided to push it. “You here from school or something? Summer break?”
She Escort Van hesitated and made a face (a face that said, “Why am I having to talk about this shit again?”) and said, “Yes.”
For the next few minutes Kurt stood nearby and made awkward small talk, and in the course of the interaction made a few observations, not least of which was that the girl was used to deflecting crude and clumsy come-ons from old, drunk men in bars. She’d probably spent a lot of time at family places, grown up in them, and had gotten good at a surface, good-natured shove-off for drunk men, starting at an early age. It was kind of funny, but only mildly interesting, and after some more dumb chat Kurt sat back down.
It didn’t take long before Julie got bored and pulled out her phone. She texted a few things, mouthed the word “Shit,” and snapped the thing shut. She looked frustrated and angry. When Tommy came back by she flagged him over and said, “Uncle Tommy, loan me your car.”
The old man jumped and automatically said, “No! Hell no!” and then, “What for?” The girl leaned on the bar and shoved her ass back, revealing the lower portion of her tight set of cheeks, extended her arm, and wheedled, “Pleeease? I gotta go see my friend!”
Tommy shook his head emphatically and stated firmly, “No way. No way you driving my Cadillac. Not on your life.”
Julie huffed and said, “Well, what am I going to do?” and followed that with a kid-like exhalation: “AHHHHH!”
Tommy asked her, “Well, where do you need to go, little girl?” She told him, an address across town. Tommy thought for a minute, then said, “Get a ride from somebody. You got friends. Call them.”
Julie said, “Nobody’s answering their phones! My one friend doesn’t come back until tomorrow, and Ginny doesn’t get off work until 2 tonight! I can’t get a ride! Pleease? Can I have your car? Just for a little while?”
Tommy stood up as straight as he could and said bluntly, “NO.”
Julie made another angry face and pushed her glass on the rail, which Tommy refilled. “Here you go, young lady!” She grimaced and drank it in two gulps.
Kurt decided to leave. He pushed his glass in and said, “Gotta go. See you, Tommy.” He turned to the girl and said, “Nice to meet you, have a good time on your break.”
Tommy stopped him. “Hey, Kurt, where you headed?”
Kurt thought about his day, his boring, frustrated day, and made a simple decision: he named a supply store near the address Julie had mentioned.
Tommy raised his eyebrows and looked at the girl. “You need to go to your friend’s house, ask Kurt to take you. He’s headed that way. You got room in your truck, ain’t you?” the last directed back at Kurt.
Kurt shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay by me.” He turned to Julie and continued, “If you really need a ride, come on.” He stood, waiting.
The girl was thinking and making faces.
She listened as Tommy said, “Go on, it’s Kurt. Known him for years. He ain’t gonna kill you or nothing, go get your ride.”
Julie bit her lip, thought about it for a moment, then made her decision and stood up. “Okay.” She looked square at Kurt, scanning him up and down, far too carefully. She made a sideways, grinning face and said, “Let’s go.”
Kurt looked at her tits and turned to leave, dropping the words, “Come on,” as he walked to the door.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32